


The Happy Dark Prince

by SideshowStarlet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Barty Crouch Jr Appreciation 2k19, Barty Crouch Jr raises Harry, Dark Harry, Dursleys get murdered, Gen, Harry is Barty Jr's little prince, Harry loves snuggling Barty, Parent Voldemort (Harry Potter), Voldemort is Unsure about this whole parenting thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-19 14:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22145515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SideshowStarlet/pseuds/SideshowStarlet
Summary: Harry is taken away from the abusive Dursleys and raised as a Dark Prince by Voldemort and his devoted servant, Barty Crouch Jr. Will likely be Dark but not evil Harry. I'm not sure what pairings I'll have, if any. I just love exploring the balance between Harry being raised as this Dark tyrant but also having empathy for the people he rules over.
Comments: 26
Kudos: 107





	The Happy Dark Prince

Five-year-old Harry’s life changed significantly in a short period of time. He went from cowering in the Dursleys’ living room while Uncle Vernon shouted at him to being teleported (“Apparated,” his kidnapper(?) Rescuer(?) explained impatiently) to a deserted manor overlooking a small town. 

Just a few hours ago, the Dursleys were threatening him with no meals and being packed off to live in an orphanage. Their threats were interrupted by a tall, dark-haired stranger bursting through the door and killing the three of them with a flash of green light. Harry hid behind the overstuffed sofa, but the stranger waved a stick, and he found himself flying out from behind the couch and landing at the man’s side. 

“How’d you do that?” Harry asked in wonder. 

“Magic,” the man replied. 

Harry flinched, remembering Uncle Vernon’s reaction to any mention of magic or abnormality, before remembering that- however it happened- the Dursleys couldn’t touch him now. The tall man looked down disapprovingly at Harry’s involuntary show of fear before awkwardly reaching out and placing a cold hand on Harry’s shoulder. The hand lifted almost the instant it touched the boy’s shoulder, leaving Harry to wonder if he had imagined it. 

“I’m a Wizard,” the man said, “and so are you.” 

“I can do magic, too?” the boy asked in wonder. He had done strange things- turning a teacher’s hair blue, growing all his hair back in one night after a truly awful haircut, and shrinking an ugly hand-me-down sweater until it was too small for him to wear. But he had never done anything like this man did. The man had pointed a stick at the Dursleys, an eerily familiar green light shot out, and all three Dursleys lay on the living room floor, dead. 

“Will I be able to k-kill people, too?” Harry asked, stumbling over the word. 

“In time,” the man responded nonchalantly. “When you are older, we can kill all the Muggles-people who can’t do magic- in the world, allowing witches and wizards to come out of hiding.” 

Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about that answer. He never actually wanted the Dursleys dead, but a part of him was glad they couldn’t hurt him anymore. 

“Who are you?” Harry asked, realizing he didn’t even know the stranger’s name. 

“I am Lord Voldemort,” the man replied. Harry felt like he should remember that name, though he couldn’t remember from where. He had the strangest feeling he had heard the name before. “Only fools dare speak my name. Most are afraid to utter it. My followers refer to me as the Dark Lord.” 

“Are all Wizards Dark Lords?” Harry asked. 

“Only the most powerful among us,” Vol- the Dark Lord responded. 

“Could I be a Dark Lord?” Harry asked. He would like to be able to get rid of people who hurt children and take the kids somewhere safe, as this strange man had done for him. 

“In time,” the Dark Lord answered, gently pushing Harry into the manor. He didn’t elaborate further, and Harry didn’t dare ask more questions. 

The man led him across the abandoned living room and down a long, dusty hallway into a large bedroom. The bedroom, unlike the rest of the house, looked like someone had cleaned it recently. The furniture was sparse but large and expensive-looking. There was a king-sized canopy bed with red and gold curtains and matching pillows and blankets, a floor-to-ceiling bookcase filled with thick, heavy tomes, and a large wardrobe tucked into the corner. 

“This will be you room,” said the Dark Lord. The boy who couldn’t remember sleeping in anything but a cupboard gazed around the red-carpeted room in awe. “Make yourself presentable,” Voldemort added, opening the wardrobe with a casual gesture and revealing dozens of child-sized robes and cloaks hanging within. “We will have dinner after you are properly dressed.” 

With a loud pop, Voldemort disappeared. Harry wandered up to the wardrobe and tried to put on a green robe with silver fasteners over his baggy hand-me-downs. 

It didn’t fit right. Somehow, the robe felt tight on the sides but baggy in the front and back. A look in the mirror confirmed that he looked ridiculous. Harry began to tear up. He hadn’t eaten all day, and the stranger wouldn’t feed him unless he looked presentable. At least at the Dursleys, he could steal food occasionally. And lately, snacks had been mysteriously appearing in his cupboard in the evenings when the Dursleys didn’t allow him to eat dinner. He had no idea where he could find food in this strange manor. 

Harry was so distracted with hunger and crying that he didn’t notice the bedroom door opening. He felt a hand on his shoulder and whirled around to find a blond-haired man kneeling behind him, looking concerned. 

“What’s the matter, My Lord?” the man asked worriedly. “Do you not like the robes I picked out? I can order new ones and transfigure these robes in the meantime. What kind would you like?” he asked, pulling out a stick that Harry assumed was a magic wand. 

“Who are you?” Harry asked fearfully, eyeing the wand. Would the man kill him the way the Dark Lord killed the Dursleys? Noticing this, the man slipped the wand into his pocket and spread his hands to show Harry they were empty. 

“Barty Crouch at your service,” the man said, bowing his head. “It’s an honor to meet you, My Young Lord. What can I do to please you?” Barty asked, gently wiping Harry’s tears.

“I need the robes to look nice,” Harry sniffled. “Or the Dark Lord won’t let me eat. My family wouldn’t let me eat, either, and I’m so hungry!” Harry broke down in a fresh round of sobs. 

Barty gently put his hands on Harry’s back as if he wanted to hug the child but couldn’t quite figure out how to do it. He settled for rubbing the boy’s back soothingly. 

“The Dark Lord would never let you go hungry, My Prince!” Barty protested. “He wants you to be his heir. You’re to be my Young Master and rule over me and the rest of the Dark Lord’s loyal followers, once you’ve learned more magic.” 

“But I don’t know ANY magic!” Harry confessed. “And I don’t know how to wear robes without looking stupid, and the Dursleys always said I was too stupid to learn anything! And I’m so hungry!” 

Without realizing he was doing it, Harry buried his face in Barty’s chest and sobbed. Barty wrapped his arms tightly around the crying child and held him for a few minutes. Eventually, Harry’s sobs quieted to sniffles. Barty dug in his pockets, pulled out three Chocolate Frogs, and handed them to Harry. 

“Are these real frogs?” Harry asked curiously. 

“Of course not,” said Barty. “They’re candies for you. I always keep food in my pocket, because I was always on the run before My Lord allowed me to serve him in his manor. I would have carried more, but I wasn’t expecting the honor of seeing My Dark Prince again until we were seated at the dinner table. I so looked forward to making you proper meals, rather than simply leaving you snacks that the Muggles wouldn’t notice every evening.” 

“You were the one who was leaving me food!” Harry exclaimed joyfully, hugging Barty. “I loved your brownies! And your banana bread! Well, I loved everything you left me, but those were my favorites!” 

Barty chuckled, kissing the top of Harry’s head. “I made brownies for dessert,” he said. “And I shall make sure you get banana bread for breakfast tomorrow.

“Why were you always on the run?” Harry asked curiously, biting the head off a Chocolate Frog. 

“Because I was thrown in jail for being loyal to the Dark Lord,” Barty explained. “But my father broke me out as a favor to my mother before she died. I spent years trapped in my father’s house before managing to escape. I immediately began searching for the Dark Lord, and, eventually, I found him, but he was very ill. I killed my father and cut off my right hand for a special potion that would make His Lordship strong and healthy again. M’Lord was very angry when he came back, because he was certain that he would have been stronger if I had killed you, rather than my father, for the potion.” Barty broke off, gazing into the distance, trembling as he remembered the punishment Lord Voldemort had inflicted upon him. “He ordered me to find you and kill you. I tracked you down and found you in the garden behind a Muggle house, speaking to a snake. Such a talent is rare, even among wizards. It’s a sign of a powerful Dark wizard. I knew it was a sign that you could be a powerful ally to the Dark Lord. I spoke to my Master about it, and he agreed. We spent days breaking through the wards protecting your house so the Dark Lord could not only enter the house but also kill the filthy Muggles who lived there.” 

It had taken much longer than His Lordship had anticipated, Barty recalled, shuddering at the memory of the Dark Lord’s anger and impatience. While the wards allowed Barty to slip through and sneak the boy snacks, the wards seemed incapable of viewing Voldemort as anything but an enemy. Barty had begged the Dark Lord to allow him to kill the Muggles, then whisk Harry away to Riddle Manor to meet His Lordship. But the Dark Lord was insistent that he be the one to kill the Muggles. In doing so, he would be the one saving Harry’s life. This would create an unbreakable bond between him and Harry. The Dark Lord was correct, as usual. The Prince was here now, safe and sound, and Barty was to serve him! 

“The Dark Lord was so pleased that I found you that he conjured a new hand to replace the one I cut off for the Resurrection Potion.” Barty told the boy, showing him his prosthetic right hand. Now that Harry looked closely, looked paler than the rest of his body. Barty gazed at the hand as though it was the best present he had ever been given.

Harry’s head was spinning with the new information, and he didn’t know which question to ask first. Eventually, Barty shook himself out of his daydream and reached down to help Harry with his robes. “We must take those Muggle rags off you, Young Master,” he said, pulling off the robes and Dudley’s old hand-me-downs. Then, Barty slipped Harry’s robes back on him and started doing up the silver snake-shaped fasteners. “The fasteners go on your left side,” Barty explained softly. Harry reached over and finished doing up the fasteners while Barty pulled a pair of shiny, black boots from the wardrobe. 

“They’re made from Peruvian Dragon Leather,” he said, pointing out the scaly pattern. Harry lifted his foot and Barty slid the boot on. Barty pressed on the toe of the boot. “It’s half a size too big,” he said, pulling out his wand to shrink it. The boot instantly shrunk to fit Harry. Barty shrunk the second boot, and Harry sat down to pull it onto his foot and lace it up while Barty tried to comb Harry’s hair. Eventually, Barty pointed his wand at Harry’s head and whispered a spell to make it lay flat. 

“Why did the Dark Lord want to kill me, Barty? Why would he think killing me would make a stronger potion than killing your dad?” Harry asked while Barty combed through Harry’s magically-tamed hair. 

Barty was about to respond when, with a loud pop, Lord Voldemort reappeared in the bedroom. Barty had already been kneeling to comb Harry’s hair, but at the sight of the Dark Lord, he crawled forward and kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robes as well as the tops of his shiny black boots. Harry made to imitate him, crawling forward so that he was beside Barty, but the man stopped him with a hand against his chest. “No,” he whispered. “Don’t kneel. Stand and bow.” 

Harry hurried to obey, and the Dark Lord made a pleased humming sound and carded his long, pale fingers through Harry’s hair. “You look worthy to be my Dark Prince,” he said approvingly. Harry’s heart leapt, and the boy smiled in a mixture of pride and relief. 

“Rise,” Voldemort said to the man clinging to the hem of his robes as if his very survival depended on the soft, black fabric. Barty hastened to obey. 

“Is dinner ready?” Voldemort asked. 

“Yes, My Lord,” said Barty. 

“Good boy,” said Voldemort approvingly, and Barty smiled at the praise. “Harry, take my hand.” 

Harry obediently grasped the cold, pale hand, and Voldemort Apparated him to the dining room. Barty materialized half a second later and pulled out Voldemort’s chair at the head of the table. Once Voldemort was seated, Barty settled Harry in the chair to Voldemort’s right. He unfolded the fabric napkin and laid it across Harry’s lap and conjured several goblets of different juices, as well as a goblet of milk and one of water. “I wasn’t sure what you like to drink, so I poured you everything,” Barty explained quietly. 

“Thank you, Barty!” Harry said enthusiastically, bouncing in his seat. Voldemort stared at him from the head of the table, where he was cutting his meat. Harry shifted guiltily. Was he being too loud? Without thinking about it, he reached for Barty’s hand as the man took the seat to his right. Barty gave Harry’s hand a reassuring squeeze. Harry gave him a smile, which Barty returned. Harry fed himself Shepherd’s Pie and various beverages left-handed, holding Barty’s hand throughout the meal. Although Barty was left-handed, he allowed Harry to hold his left hand and used his right hand to eat. Voldemort raised an eyebrow but did not rebuke them. Gradually, Harry relaxed and enjoyed his meal while Barty and Voldemort discussed Muggle Hunting. He still didn’t let go of Barty’s hand. 

“My Lord?” Harry asked during a pause in the conversation, “Why did you want to kill me?” He was staring intently at Voldemort, who slowly put down his goblet. Harry squeezed Barty’s hand nervously. 

“There was a prophecy,” Voldemort said after a pause. “Which stated that a baby born at the end of July would be able to defeat me. I was set to rid the world of all filthy Muggles and wizards who supported the vile Muggles. I couldn’t allow death to get in the way. I believed the prophecy was referring to you. On Halloween night four years ago, I entered your house to try to kill you. Your parents foolishly stood in my way and ended up dying. When I tried to kill you, the curse rebounded- bounced off you, something that never happened in the history of Magic. I was… temporarily vanquished. You, dear Harry, became famous as the only person to survive the Killing Curse. The Wizarding World celebrated my defeat, aside from a few loyal followers.” He glanced at Barty momentarily. “And you, Harry, were placed with the worst sort of Muggles, ones who would have the magic stomped out of you. Ending their lives, bringing you back to the Magical world to rule over the sheep who would have their savior enslaved to Muggles, was a greater joy than I could have imagined. I’d like to replace your worthless family and raise you as my Prince and Heir. Together, we will bring the world to its knees.” 

Harry thought a moment. He didn’t think he wanted to kill anyone, but he was grateful the Dursleys were gone. He had no memory of his parents, but if his mother was Aunt Petunia’s sister, she must be just like her. If so, maybe Voldemort killing his parents was a good thing. 

“I’d like that,” said Harry. “I’ll be a good Prince and get rid of Muggles and make sure they can’t hurt you or Barty or anyone else.” He stood up on his chair and let go of Barty’s hand to give his servant a hug and a kiss. He had seen Dudley and Aunt Petunia share plenty of snuggles. And Barty had fed him and helped him get dressed, just like Petunia did for Dudley. Barty looked surprised but nevertheless thrilled and returned the embrace. “Thank you for dressing me and giving me yummy food, Barty,” Harry said, climbing into Barty’s lap and laying his head on Barty’s shoulder. “You’re the bestest servant ever.” 

“Sit in your own chair, Harry,” said Voldemort, sounding amused rather than angry. “And Barty is indeed the best servant,” he added, correcting Harry’s grammar while complimenting Barty. Barty blushed and carefully settled the Little Prince back in his own chair. 

“I liked this drink the best!” said Harry, brandishing an empty goblet. “What flavor is it, Barty?” 

“Fruit punch,” said Barty, noting the drips of red juice remaining stubbornly on the bottom of the goblet. “Would you like some more?” 

“Yes, please!” said Harry happily. 

Barty used his wand to silently refill Harry’s goblet with fruit punch and Vanish all of Harry’s other goblets. 

The two men returned to their conversation while Harry finished his juice. Eventually, Barty served him brownies for dessert, and Harry leaned back in his chair, utterly relaxed as the grown-up conversation floated around him. At some point, he reached out and held Barty’s hand again. 

After a few more minutes, Harry yawned and stretched, bringing Barty’s hand up with his. “Shall I give you your bath and take you to bed, My Prince?” Barty asked, glancing at Voldemort for approval. Voldemort nodded his permission, and Barty scooped up the now half-asleep child and Apparated them to Harry’s room. Barty carried Harry into the bathroom attached to the bedroom and ran Harry a bubble bath. Harry splashed happily while Barty scrubbed the child’s body and conjured multicolored bubbles, much to the Little Prince’s delight. 

After Harry’s bath, Barty helped him dress in a pair of warm pajamas, carried him to bed, and tucked him in to the soft blankets. “Barty, look!” Harry said excitedly. He made a fist as if grasping an imaginary wand. He copied the motion he had seen Barty make earlier, and instantly, multicolored bubbles appeared, floating lazily around the room. 

Barty, kneeling beside Harry’s bed, applauded enthusiastically. Spurred on by his servant’s praise, Harry created more and more bubbles until the room was filled with them. He gave a loud, joyous shriek of laughter. Barty joined in, delighted. This was the happiest he had ever seen his Young Lord. 

Suddenly, a tall, serious-looking figure appeared amongst the bubbles. “Master!” Barty cried, bowing down and pressing kisses to the hem of the figure’s black robes. Harry jumped out of bed, intending to bow to the Dark Lord, but he stumbled, almost toppling over. Lord Voldemort reached out to steady him. The Dark Lord guided Harry’s hand in the correct motion to make the bubbles disappear and lifted the boy back into bed. Pale, cold hands tucked him in to the soft blankets. 

“Good night, My Heir,” Voldemort said, as he signaled for Barty to stand. “I shall begin training you tomorrow.” 

“Good night, My Prince,” Barty said softly to the half-asleep little boy. Harry quickly fell asleep as Voldemort took his servant’s arm and led him from the room. They had much to plan.


End file.
